Wedding Day
by andromedasangst
Summary: The day has arrived- in a matter of hours Mary will be Mrs. Carlisle. Yet she and Matthew are both struggling to find happiness in their lives and with the wedding looming, Mary's future seems bleak. But her fate is already sealed... isn't it?
1. Chapter 1

Mary was not awoken out of excitement or trepidation, but rather as she was every day: by Anna pulling back the curtains briskly, allowing sunlight to flood the room. Before she could fathom what day it was or recall her plans for the day, Anna reminded her.

"Today's the day M'lady," she smiled excitedly. "I was told to wake you earlier, so you can take your time getting ready."

Mary lay in bed, staring blankly at the ceiling.

_Wedding day._

"Jane and I will be up soon to assist you," Anna said brightly as she bustled from the room.

Mary did not move. She was quite content to lie there in bed, the sun warm on her face and the sheets more than accommodating. She imagined what would happen if she did not move. Her mother would come up first, no doubt. Perhaps Granny, too. They would want to speak of how special this day was, how proud they were of her, how marriage gave her independence as well as influence, all that nonsense. They would find her in bed, unmoved. Perhaps they would think she was ill. Perhaps they would think she was dead. She would fight the urge to blink, to breathe. Perhaps she would pull a Juliet, escape somewhere once everyone thought her dead. Travel to a far off land, start a new life.

She rolled her eyes at herself and forced herself out of bed. She knew she didn't have the courage to do that, even if she had any reason to want to. Her life was settled now.

Looking into her mirror, she studied herself. She looked no different. Yet by the end of the day, she would be Mrs. Carlisle rather than Miss Crawley. She realized that with this thought came no excitement, no yearning. She felt nothing.

Her door was pushed open ajar and her mother appeared, wearing an excited grin. Her mother was evidently more excited than she was.

"Oh good morning mother," Mary said, wondering if she sounded cheerful enough. It seemed she did, as her mother didn't question her mood.

"Mary, my dear," she gushed, drifting over to sit on the edge of Mary's bed, opposite her daughter who sat at her dresser. She gave a wide smile. "Today's the day!"

Mary nodded, stretching her own smile as far as she could. "It certainly is."

Cora took Mary's face in her hands. "It's so hard to believe this day has arrived. That you're going to be a married woman." Her smile remained, yet her blue eyes were sad, loving.

"Yes, it must be a relief, to finally see me married." Mary's words were not harsh, though they hinted at resignation.

Cora simply smiled at her daughter, before finally leaning over and kissing her on the forehead. "You know I wish only the best for you, my dear."

She stood. "There's still so much to do. Soon enough the guests will be arriving and Mrs. Patmore's stressing over the food- I have to see to it all."

"The others are downstairs having breakfast if you'd like to join them. I'm not sure where your father has got to, but your sisters are down there. And Matthew and Isobel of course," she made her way to the door, offering one last proud look at her daughter. "It would be best to eat something before Anna and Jane help you get ready."

Mary did not hear her mother leave, her thoughts were on Matthew. He had arrived last night with Isobel; they had traveled from London and were staying for the wedding. It had been over a month since she had last seen him. He had smiled. It wasn't genuine, she knew that. He was still hurt, he was merely trying to conceal that dark side of him for the wedding. He had smiled at dinner, had spoken with everyone, had laughed appropriately with everyone else. Yet she had seen it. The break in his façade as he gazed outside, the forced joviality in his tone, the emptiness in his eyes that remained even when he smiled. She had wanted nothing more than to speak honestly with him, to ask him how he was coping. At dinner there was no such opportunity- however later on in the evening she had found him in the sitting room after her father had retired. He was sitting in an armchair by the fire, staring somberly into the flames.

Not sure what to say, she approached him slowly, sitting tentatively on the couch nearby. He looked up at her, blue eyes unbearably empty.

"How are you?" she had asked gently.

He was staring into the fire again. "Coping," he replied, his voice barely audible.

At least he didn't pretend around her.

She nodded. She had no idea what to say, what to do. She felt frustrated; she hated feeling this way, so useless and unsure. _A nuisance._

They sat in uneasy silence. All that could be heard was the crackling of the fire- everyone else seemed to have retired to their rooms.

After a while Matthew bowed his head. "I'm sorry, Mary. I'm sorry that I can't be happy… that I can't show more joy for your wedding."

_But I could never be happy now, don't you see?_

"There's no need to be, Matthew. I wouldn't expect that of you," her voice faltered. _Not after Lavinia's death_. "Not after all that's happened."

She chuckled coldly. "I'm not even sure if I can be happy."

Matthew looked up at that. "Oh do try." His tone was no longer cold, it was gentle. "We have to be strong, you and I... We need to pick ourselves up..."

She could only look at him, lost as to what to say and confused at the unbearable sadness within her. She envisioned her future and it held no happiness. She felt her eyes well with tears. Ashamed, she tried in vain to blink them away. She hated herself for crying in front of others. She turned away. She knew Matthew was looking at her.

His tone had reverted back to cold and resigned.

"I shouldn't have come. I've inflicted my unhappiness on you and ruined your joy already. I'm sorry."

Mary turned quickly. "No," she said sadly. Her tears had subsided though she knew her eyes were rimmed with red. "I need you here. You of all people."

He simply nodded. "As long as you want me here."

After what seemed like a long pause, he placed a hand on her own. "I know I'm not doing a good job of showing it, but I do still care for you, Mary," he said earnestly. "And I wish you all the best for your marriage."

Their eyes met and Mary wanted to say something yet she didn't know what. The moment passed and Matthew rose to leave. He no longer needed a walking stick and Mary listened as his even footsteps grew quieter as he exited the room. Only when she was sure she could not hear them had she allowed herself to cry.

The memory of their conversation left Mary with that same hollow feeling. She rose from the dresser and gazed out the window, staring at nothing in particular. It was as if she was gazing at her future. There would be no passion, no adventure. She couldn't help envying Sybil. Her younger sister took risks, she was courageous. She had risked everything for love- love with a chauffeur! - and she would have the life she wanted, one devoid of regrets. Even Edith, who at present clearly felt left out, had the opportunity to find love, to find happiness. Mary envied them both, though she would never admit to it.

In less than six hours her fate would be sealed. Well, there was no point wallowing in self-pity. This was what she had chosen.

A knock at the door startled her. "Lady Mary, are you in there?"

It was Anna and Jane. Mary took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. She smoothed her skirt, made sure there was a smile on her face.

It was time to get ready.


	2. Chapter 2

_A/N: Thanks everyone for your interest and encouragement :) I'm aiming to publish one chapter a week... hopefully I can keep it up… Thanks for your patience and I hope you enjoy!_

It didn't take as long as she expected for Anna and Jane to style her hair, apply her make-up and help her into her dress. Soon enough, the maids were standing back, appreciating their hard work as Mary observed herself in the full-length mirror.

"You look beautiful, Lady Mary," said Anna, smiling proudly. Mary could only smile herself. It was true- the dress, custom made, fit perfectly. She was surprised at how comfortable it was.

Then again, her wedding dress, which was one of the most modern styles, wasn't like her Granny's or her mother's had been- frumpy, with endless layers of dense fabric. As was the fashion, her dress was lightweight and made primarily of white silk chiffon and charmeuse. There had been many to choose from, yet this suited her perfectly: it wasn't extravagant, yet it wasn't boring. She loved the embroidery and beading at the bodice, waist and sleeves. Although the sleeves weren't really sleeves, rather they were fine drapes of chiffon which hung elegantly from her shoulders to her elbows.

"I'm sure the others are ready, too," Jane explained. "They'll be waiting downstairs for you, milady. But there's no hurry, the cars are yet to arrive."

Mary nodded, both an acknowledgement of understanding and a dismissal. The maids left her and she pulled on her long, white gloves, smoothing them over before opening her velvet jewelry box. Inside were the pearls her grandmother had given her once she was engaged. Granny had worn them at her own wedding, all those years ago.

_Something old._

She draped them around her neck; they matched the pearl clips in her hair. Her veil and bouquet would wait until later.

Taking one last look in the mirror, she willed all her doubts away. There was no alternate route, no going back. Today she would marry Sir Richard Carlisle.

Mary's white shoes were barely audible as she began to descend the carpeted stairs. She moved slowly, careful of her dress. It had never been worn of course, and she wondered if it was as delicate as it looked.

_Something new._

Everyone was standing at the bottom of the stairs in the hallway, waiting for the cars. They were all dressed and ready- Matthew and her father in new suits, her sisters in their bridesmaid dresses. Mary paused, hovering on the second step, simply looking down at them all. For the second time that day she felt like Juliet; looking down at all those she loved one last time before touching the friar's remedy to her lips. Her eyes lingered on Matthew, who was in deep conversation with Sybil. As if sensing her gaze, Matthew looked up and noticed her, stopping mid-sentence as he took in her appearance. Sybil then looked up, and like a ripple, everyone was gazing up at her in a matter of seconds. Mary didn't know what to say and merely smiled modestly, making her way down the stairs. The silence lasted a few more moments, before the room erupted with compliments.

"Good god... is that my daughter?" Her father said, his eyes moist with pride.

Her mother seemed equally as ecstatic. "Oh Mary, the dress looks just stunning."

"You look brilliant!"

"The dress... it's perfect!"

Mary could feel herself glowing internally. That was more like it - now she felt a little more like a bride. She glanced at Matthew; he had remained silent. Though unlike the others, who were admiring the elaborate embroidery of her dress, he was looking her straight in the eye. He offered her a small smile - a real one - and she felt the glowing within her intensify.

"Now the cars won't be here for another twenty minutes, so we won't be leaving just yet," said Robert, addressing the group. "I'm going to go outside and check that everything's in order."

Just as her father left through the front door, Thomas strode past, carrying a bulky chair with ease. All the servants were preparing for the garden party, which was to be held at Downton after the ceremony. Earlier, Mary had seen the large white tents through the window, as well as glimpses of small tables and chairs. It reminded her of that garden party all those years ago, where she had ruined her chances with Matthew forever. Where her father had received news of a war that had shattered the world they had once lived in.

"Mary, your grandmother would like a word with you in the library," her mother murmured, motioning to the room on the right. Mary simply nodded. She had known she wouldn't reach the church without Granny putting a word in.

She found her grandmother sitting upright expectantly, the bookshelves around her looming, causing her to appear very small.

"Well Mary I must say, you make a perfect bride", she said, eyeing Mary's dress in evident approval.

"Thank you Granny. You wanted a word?" Mary took a seat opposite her. She braced herself for the oncoming spiel; the merit of a husband, the importance of marriage, the security she had guaranteed for herself. Her grandmother seemed to read her mind, yet what she said next came as a surprise.

"Oh don't worry, my dear. I didn't send you in to lecture you on marriage."

Mary paused, caught off guard. "Well, what then?"

Her grandmother leaned forward slightly, gazing at her intently. "Mary, we are all terribly proud of you. You have secured a marriage for yourself and proved you're a woman capable of directing your own future."

Mary sensed her grandmother was hinting that despite all this, she had made a mistake. "It's Richard, isn't it?" she asked without hesitation. "I know you don't like him, Granny. There's no need to hide it."

"On the contrary, my dear! I do not dislike your fiancé and by now you should know that I don't 'hide' my opinions," her grandmother retorted. "I'm merely curious as to whether Richard is really the man you ought to be marrying."

Mary rolled her eyes. "Aren't you happy enough that I'm finally getting married, and to a successful man? Besides, whom do you propose I marry? Matthew?"

Granny raised her eyebrows and suppressed a smug smile. "Well, now that you mention it - "

"I know you met with him and told him to marry me," Mary cut in, slightly annoyed. "But I ruined my chances with him long ago. It's out of the question."

"But you still love him." It wasn't a question, but a statement.

Mary looked away, exhaling deeply. "Love is irrelevant. It's not essential in marriage - you of all people should know that."

"Oh my dear," her grandmother said gently. Guardedly, Mary turned to look at her. "Love isn't essential in advantageous marriage. Yet in lifelong happiness, it is of the upmost importance. And, although my persistence all these years might make it difficult for you to believe, I'd prefer the latter for my granddaughters."

Mary did not know what to say. The anesthetic calm she had felt earlier was now ruined, as her doubts of achieving happiness had been confirmed by her grandmother. And although at times she thought her grandmother nosy and difficult, she had a profound admiration for the woman. Mary took her grandmother's opinions to heart and she knew she would not be able to rid herself of this one. It was seeded within her now, spreading roots of doubt and hesitance throughout her mind. However, nothing could be done - even if her grandmother was right.

Outside she could hear the servants preparing for the party; yet another reminder of her inescapable destiny. The time for making decisions was over. Now it was time to see them through.

"Granny…I… why say these things now? Everything's settled, there's no turning back."

Violet Crawley tipped her head and smiled reassuringly. "Never allow yourself to feel trapped, my dear. It is never too late, no matter how bold your actions may be."

Mary appreciated the words of wisdom, yet they failed to give her any courage.

"Those cars should be here by now," her grandmother strained her neck, trying to catch a glimpse of a car through the library window. "Then again, cars rely on so many things, making them highly unpredictable. I should much prefer a carriage, they were always on time. With these automobiles you never quite know if something unexpected will happen!"

She stood. "Are you coming, my dear?"

Mary shook her head. "I'll join you in a minute."

Her grandmother walked out, standing tall despite her dependence on her walking stick. Mary watched as her dark violet dress trailed out the door. Taking advantage of her solitude, Mary allowed herself to confront the overwhelming fear and doubt within her. She was acting like a child, she hated herself for it; she had too much pride and not enough courage. Tears flooded her eyes and she felt lost, disorientated- she had no idea what to do. The only person she could confide in had given her advice she was incapable of acting on. Everywhere she turned there were formidable consequences. If she somehow managed to evade her own wedding she would shame her family, lose all hope of security and horrible gossip would follow her for years on end. The chance of another marriage would be scarce; she would likely die an old spinster. She would pretend not to be lonely, she would feign dignity in public, but she knew she could never live that way. And then there was Richard, who would also be ruined. She wondered what he would do- would he force her to go through with it? Or would he turn on her, blind with rage, pinning the blame and ridicule on her through his newspapers, publishing her awful Turkish scandal while he was at it? Then again, if she married Carlisle… she had already foreseen her bleak future several times that morning - she didn't want to envision it again. She was wallowing in regret, cursing at the bad decisions that had put her in this position, when she heard Sybil's tentative voice from the library door.

"Mary? It's time to leave…"

Mary lowered her head slightly and attempted to wipe her tears away with her hands, trying not to ruin her make-up.

Sybil approached her, offering a silk handkerchief. At times Mary criticized or envied her sister's good will, but at that moment she was grateful for it. She dabbed her cheeks and held out the hanky once she was done. Gently, Sybil pushed the hanky back into her sister's hand.

"Keep it for today," she insisted. "You'll probably need it later on - for tears of joy, I hope."

_Something borrowed._

Mary forced a tight smile. "It's astounding really… how emotional you can be on the happiest day of your life." She laughed at herself humorlessly. "You'll experience it soon enough."

Was it in two months or three that her sister was to be married in Dublin? The images came quickly: Sybil and the chauffeur - Branson - married, smiling, dancing. In love. Hastily, she pushed the vision from her mind.

Sybil was evidently worried about her, Mary could tell. Yet Sybil beamed happily at her sister. She didn't question her tears. Silently, Mary followed Sybil out of the library and into the hallway.

"There you are!" cried Cora. She took Mary's hand and ushered her out the front door. Everyone was gathered behind them, ready to leave for the church. Looking back for a split second, Mary caught a glimpse of Sybil uttering something to Matthew, her brow creased with concern. She wanted to go back, to stop her- she didn't want Matthew to know of her vulnerability, of her self-pity. As if in a dream, her mother led her towards the black cars lined in the driveway. Everything seemed slow; her mother's voice was muffled, like she was underwater. The gravel crunched beneath her feet. Every step was heavy; she was dragging invisible shackles.

She barely registered the car door being opened for her, the feel of the plush leather as she climbed in. Her mother was saying something about the garden party; her father was instructing the driver. Mary stared through the window at the world outside. The rest of her family were spilling out of the front doors, a collection of colour and lace and celebration. Her grandmother led the group, moving with purpose across the drive. The engine roared to life and ripples ran through her thighs in rhythm to its pulse. As Matthew appeared from the front door and began to descend the steps, Mary felt everything else crumble away. The car began to move, slowly backing out, ready to depart. Mary kept her eyes on Matthew, it seemed he was looking for something, before his gaze met hers. His expression was one of worry, eyebrows pulled together and mouth slightly open, as if he wanted to say something. She was meters away from him, yet she felt as if she was standing right in front of him. For a moment, it was just the two of them, their expressions their only form of communication. Then her parent's voices seeped in, the engine ripped through the silence and she heard her heart thud against her chest. But Mary did not look away. Matthew's eyes were clear; they were full of concern.

_Something blue._


	3. Chapter 3

The village church was small compared to those Mary had encountered in the large towns, yet it wasn't inferior. Big enough to fit everyone in the village, it was solid; it had been built centuries ago and it was immune to change. Looking up at it as she exited the car, Mary could imagine it staying the same, decade upon decade, as the village changed and reshaped around it. It was consoling, having something so constant.

Of course, the register office in Ripon was out of the question (it being, as granny put it, "not only mediocre but far too lower class"), which left the church in the village the only option. Not that it was a bad option - Mary thought it was an ideal place for a wedding. She was by no means an orthodox church-goer, but on the rare occasion she did go, she thought the stained glass windows and the musty stone walls, holding within them years of faith and prayer, to be quite romantic. Not that she would ever admit it.

Inside, most of the guests had already arrived and were taking their seats on the long wooden pews. Mary could hear them from behind the large double doors in the church's foyer. Her family, also gathered in the foyer, were already filing through them. Her granny kissed her on the cheek as she went past. Sybil patted her arm. Matthew simply glanced at her furtively, looking as though he wanted to say something but couldn't.

As she watched them go, Mary felt a hand grope her arm from behind. She jumped slightly, turning to find her fiancé. Richard seemed to loom above her.

"Feeling jumpy, are we?" he asked, amused.

"Richard," Mary didn't bother hiding her surprise. "What are you doing here?"

He raised his eyebrows. "It's my wedding isn't it?"

She closed her eyes, shook her head.

"No, I mean... here. I expected you to be in there," she motioned to the double doors, "with everyone else. The groom isn't supposed to see the bride until she walks down the aisle."

He snorted. "You know I'm not one for tradition, Mary."

He was right- everything about Richard defied tradition. Though not in the way a revolutionary chauffeur might - all brash and radical - but in a sly, selfish way that lacked passion and exuded greed.

She nodded in assent. "Quite right. And you're not one for romance either... this will be quite a wedding, won't it?"

She didn't mean to be sulky or critical, yet her tone conveyed both. However, Richard didn't seem to notice. He was still looking at her with amusement, a knowing glint in his eye.

"As I've said before, _that's just not who we are_."

Mary didn't force a smile. She'd given up smiling already, and they weren't even married yet. Her face as she walked down the aisle would be solemn. A corpse bride.

"Not having second thoughts, I hope," Richard probed. "Then again, I guess it's too late for those."

Mary felt as if she were being tested. Why did he have to be so irritating, today of all days?

"None" she said resolutely. "You know I'm strong. Once I make a decision, there's no turning back."

He nodded absent-mindedly, his eyes raking her body. "The dress is perfect, by the way. I'll make sure you get a picture in the paper."

She resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Typical Richard., thinking of nothing but business and publicity at his own wedding. A picture was the last thing she wanted - to have this day immortalised.

It seemed as if they had run out of things to say, and they both turned to observe the last of the guests trickling in. Anna and Mr. Bates had just arrived; following them were Carson and Mrs Hughes. The servants were all invited of course, even if they were to occupy the very back pew. They would have to hurry back to Downton afterwards though, in order to serve at the garden party.

Anna smiled at Mary but did not acknowledge Richard, who she evidently disliked. After what he had asked of Anna, Mary didn't blame her. She felt Carson looking at her and she met his gaze; his expression held so much pride that she felt like crying. He too, did not acknowledge the groom to be. As a suave Thomas entered, trailed by O'Brien, Richard cleared is throat, saying it was probably time he got into position. Mary simply nodded and he disappeared behind the wooden doors, through which she would soon follow. Standing still while the servants filed into the room, Mary took a moment to admire her surroundings. She wasn't quite sure what it was- the musty smell, the ancient stones or the sheer beauty of everything- but something triggered a memory she had long forgotten.

* * *

><p>"Look, I'm the bride!" Edith had called out gleefully, walking with purpose down the dusty red carpet in the middle aisle of the church. Sybil, looking wild with her dark hair loose, had climbed up to the altar and was trying in vain to see over it. Even on her toes the feat was impossible.<p>

"Here comes the bride", she sang out, invisible behind the podium.

Mary was standing in the huge doorway at the opposite end of the room. She had one foot in and one foot out- should she join her sisters in their childish games, or stand with the adults, outside? She was at that age where she was constantly caught between the two.

"All dressed in white..." Sybil's high-pitched hymn continued. Making up her mind, Mary ran down the aisle to where Edith was and pushed her gently aside.

"You can't be married before I am," she pointed out.

Affronted, Edith gasped. "Yes I can! It's not my fault if you can't find anyone to marry!"

But Mary was ignoring her. Already walking down the aisle, she was wrapped in her own fantasy.

Her fiancé was standing at the altar. She didn't have a clear mental picture of what he looked like, but he was certainly taller than her, and his presence made her feel tingly inside. Oh, and he was the same age as her of course; they were both eleven.

"My groom is right there," Mary said seriously, looking towards the altar. She held her arm out, curled awkwardly in the air, pretending her father's arm was linked with hers. Her stride was slow, graceful. She reached the altar and stood solemnly, imagining the church to be full of friends and family members. All eyes were on her.

Not knowing the logistics of wedding ceremonies, Sybil stood behind Mary and her invisible groom and recited the one line she knew.

"I now pronounce you husband and wife!"

Edith had reached the front pew and was sitting in it. She had taken out a silk hankerchief and pretended to dab at her eyes with it. She sniffed loudly, causing Sybil and Mary to turn.

"What are you doing?" Mary asked, slightly annoyed.

"I'm crying," Edith said, as if it were obvious. "Everyone cries at weddings. You should know _that_."

Sybil jumped down from the vicar's platform. "Why do people cry at weddings?"

Edith shrugged. "I don't know."

Mary walked down to where Edith sat, irritated that her fantasy had been ruined. She snatched the handkerchief from her.

"Well, no one is allowed to cry at my wedding. It's going to be the happiest day of my life."

* * *

><p>"Mary?"<p>

Her father's voice pulled her back to the present. "Are you ready my dear?"

She nodded, still slightly lost in thought. The memory, long forgotten, had shaken her.

"Everything alright?" Her father asked, taking her arm in his.

She nodded again, knowing that her voice would reveal her conflicted emotions. The big doors in front of them now seemed even larger than before. Soon they would open and she would have to walk down the aisle, just as she did all those years ago in a childish dream. Would she be able to fool everyone today?

Would she look Richard in the eye?

Would her eyes stray to where Matthew sat?

Afraid her father could hear her heart racing, she exhaled deeply and tried to calm down.

Why did she have to make this so hard for herself? This was the path she had chosen. She should be excited.

"Mary," she turned to look at her father, surprised to see his eyes glazed over. "You know I'm very proud of you, we all are…"

She nodded, patting his arm. "I know, Papa," she said softly.

"And as much as I've wanted to see you married over the years… well, it doesn't make it any easier, giving you away."

Her throat had tightened and, not wanting to cry, she didn't say anything. Instead, she kissed him gently on the cheek. Her father smiled. "How selfish I am. Besides, this isn't an end, it's a beginning."

She blinked profusely, willing her tears away. _You're so lucky, Mary. To have such good parents. _

_Any minute now. _Any minute the doors would open and everyone's eyes would be on her. She wasn't ready. Would she ever be?

Suddenly, a suited figure burst into the foyer from a small side door.

It was Matthew.

He was panting slightly, a strand of blonde hair out of place. Mary was lost for words; it was her father who spoke.

"Matthew? What's the meaning of this?"

Matthew swallowed and caught his breath, before clearing his throat. He looked directly at Robert and his daughter.

"Mary, you're not getting married today."


	4. Chapter 4

Father Stevens, the village's sole priest and vicar, had held that title for as long as Mary could remember. He carried out every baptism, funeral, wedding and, on the occasion that she went, every Sunday church service. She had never spoken to him, yet she thought him a kind man, who was welcoming to those who embraced religion but not hostile to those who didn't. It was Father Stevens who had married her mother and father, it was he who would have married Matthew and Lavinia and it was he who would marry her and Carlisle.

And as it turned out, Father Stevens had been found lying in his hallway, almost dead, only an hour ago.

The poor man had never had any servants, believing himself to be self-sufficient as well as highly capable of looking after himself, and it was only when a worried apprentice (knowing the vicar to be late) went to check on his master that the man was found, gasping for breath.

"If he had been found any later, he would not be alive," Dr. Clarkson was saying gravely, having just returned from the hospital. Robert was quiet. Mary knew her father would have been furious if anything trivial had ruined her day, yet this situation was serious. The poor man couldn't help it. Everyone knew he was terribly old, and a heart attack - though horrible - wasn't entirely shocking.

"What can be done?" Robert said quietly, addressing the lanky apprentice who had found the vicar. The boy gave an apologetic shrug.

"I'm sorry m'Lord, but I'm not qualified to marry people yet. Father John is overseas visiting a sick relative, so there's really no one who can do it."

Matthew had been right. She wasn't getting married today.

Robert turned to her. "I'm so sorry, my dear," he said gently, just as Richard strode into the foyer.

It took her a moment to find her voice. "I think I need a moment," she murmured.

"Does anyone want to inform me of what is going on?" Richard said, his voice razor sharp.

The calm explanations from Dr. Clarkson and her father faded as she exited the church. She left the building in the manner that she had entered it- in a dreamlike state, the world narrowed to her raging thoughts and emotions. The stone steps were hard underfoot yet she didn't notice; the outside world couldn't touch her at that moment.

She was glad no one was attempting to reel her back inside, but then again, why bother trying? She had a thousand excuses to now do as she pleased. Her wedding day had been cut short; everyone would assume her too angry or upset to be consoled.

And it wasn't as if she felt nothing. Matthew's announcement had breached the levy that had been holding in all her emotions. She did feel upset- no, she was devastated. Not because her day had been ruined but because she would have to do it all again: the preparation, the forced joviality, the internal breakdown.

She couldn't do it all again.

She walked through the graveyard, tombstones either side of her. A small part of her was jealous of the peaceful dead, free of worries and struggles. Yet then she thought of Lavinia lying somewhere only meters away, never to be married, never to find happiness. How selfish she was, to take for granted all that Lavinia would never have. Her ghost seemed to appear before her, transparent, a whisper of a life stolen. Her gown shimmered in the sunlight, yet her eyes were desperately sad.

Mary felt her eyes well with tears. She had been the reason Lavinia had given up- Matthew had said so himself.

Without warning, Pamuk appeared next to Lavinia. He looked as dashing in death as he had been in life, yet his face was devoid of the cheeky grin she remembered. He was solemn.

She felt a sob escape her chest. _She_ was to blame for his death.

A figure appeared to join the two young ghosts, yet he wasn't as vivid as the others. He also wasn't as young. Mary could only ascertain a stooped outline through her tears, but she knew instantly it was Father Stevens.

She closed her eyes, stumbling blindly through the garden of the dead, wishing them away. Once she opened her eyes they were gone, but they were still on her mind, on her tear stained cheeks, on her conscience. How many people had to suffer for her foolish existence?

_I'm cursed._

She was walking faster now, striding even, as though trying to escape something. Perhaps to escape her feelings, or her situation, or simply to escape herself. Beyond the graveyard was a wide open field. Though she was still wildly upset, anything was better than being in that church. Her tears were relentless; she could barely see where she was going. Reaching a tree, she gripped the trunk for support and cried, letting out all her pent up emotion. Time stopped and she simply stood there, letting her tears fall.

"Mary," a voice said behind her. She didn't turn around.

Matthew came into her blurred line of vision, yet she didn't look at him. As if by habit, she turned her head away to hide her tears. The crunch of a branch signaled he was stepping closer. She felt a hand on her arm and she reluctantly turned to look at him. He wore the same worried expression she had seen that morning.

"Did Granny send you here?" she asked without thinking, pushing his hand away.

His eyes were gentle. "No."

She closed her eyes, not wanting to have to explain anything. As she predicted, he broke the silence.

"Mary, not everyone can see it, but I can. You're torturing yourself." His voice was calm, as smooth as water caressing a pebble. "You don't have to marry him."

She took a staggered breath. "Oh Matthew," she said hopelessly. "Yes, I do. You don't understand- I have no choice."

He stepped even closer, his voice firm. "Mary, you are the strongest woman I have ever met. You can change your mind, you can call it off. You aren't trapped."

She simply shook her head. He didn't understand, he didn't know the power Richard held over her.

As if reading her thoughts, he asked: "Is it Richard? Do you feel threatened by him?"

The tears returned, a kind of affirmation to Matthew's question.

"What are you afraid of, Mary?"

She didn't answer. Of all the people to follow her out of the church, it had been Matthew. He was here; this wasn't a warped dream- he was genuinely trying to help her. There was no pretend, no game they were playing. Just kindness. He was such a good friend.

It was at that moment that Mary realised she no longer wanted to hide anything from Matthew. She had lived the past few years behind a facade, giving few people a glimpse of the person beneath. But if anyone was to see the mask come off properly, she realised she would want it to be the man standing before her now, trying to help her when she was most in need of it. She opened her mouth and the words unraveled like a thick ribbon, dropping easily as if of their own accord. Her secret was toxic, dirty- and as she spoke she studied his face, praying he wouldn't judge her too harshly. Although Matthew was the most decent man she knew, her scandal with Pamuk could push him beyond forgiveness.

His face remained blank the entire time, and as she finished, she wagered with herself. If she lost Matthew forever as a result of this, she would force herself to marry Carlisle without any second thoughts.

Matthew remained silent, simply digesting the information. She waited anxiously. "Please say something."

His voice revealed nothing. "I'm glad you told me."

"I don't want to keep secrets from you anymore," she confessed, still teary.

"What happened… it has evidently troubled you for a long time, and I don't judge you for it."

His gaze met hers and she knew that she hadn't made a mistake. His eyes were reassuring, comforting. "Mary, the only thing standing in your way is the fear of tainting your reputation. And I know you're strong enough to overcome it."

"Matthew, Richard said that if I ever crossed him, he would ruin me."

"The worst thing he can do is publish the scandal."

"That's just it! I'll lose all hope of marriage if he does!"

She was crying again, and she brought her gloved hands to her face.

"That's not true," she heard Matthew say quietly.

Hesitantly, she lowered her hands to look at him. Could she even allow herself to hope he would consider her? His gaze was intent.

"The truth is," he said, a smile twitching at the corner of his mouth. "I have a secret of my own."

She wiped her cheeks. "It can't be as bad as mine," she said humorlessly.

"Not quite. But I think it's time you knew."

She waited, not quite sure what to expect. Was it something to do with Lavinia? Was it something to do with her?

He hesitated.

"What is it?" she asked, slightly worried.

"Mary, I… I never stopped loving you," he said, looking out past the tree at something in the distance. "Even with Lavinia, I… well there was always something there that I couldn't quite get rid of."

Stunned, Mary simply stared at him.

"When Lavinia… when she gave up, I… I felt so guilty because I knew that she knew. She knew a small part of me would always love you. And I felt so guilty that I… I blamed myself, and in turn I blamed you."

He hung his head. "I'm so sorry, Mary. I'm sorry for what I said at her funeral."

"No matter…" she breathed. She had no idea what to do or say, where to look, how to act. "The truth is, I was to blame. Partially. Because I was still in love with you and despite my efforts to hide it… Lavinia knew."

She felt his gaze on her face, and slowly, turned to look at him. The emotion in his eyes astounded her.

"My affections haven't gone," he murmured, his face only inches from hers. "I don't believe they ever will."

Her heart pounding beneath her chest, she simply stared at him. She was lost for words.

Slowly, his lips closed in on hers. She closed her eyes and all of a sudden they were young again, sitting in the dining room, unsure of their actions but certain of their feelings. She felt his arms around her neck and the world shifted; they were gliding to the music from the new record player, thinking with their hearts rather than their minds. Then reality set in and she faltered, half expecting him to withdraw, as he had every other time they had kissed. Yet he didn't, and she felt all her reservations and hesitations melt away. At that moment, everything seemed so natural. She didn't care that the hem of her dress was lined with dirt, or that loose strands of hair were falling from her pearl clips. For perhaps the first time that day, she didn't think about the future. She concentrated on the present, on Matthew's touch, on the faint smell of his cologne, on the feel of his lips and the growing happiness within her.

Time had lost all meaning and she never wanted the moment to end, yet when they heard a rough voice from behind them both she and Matthew broke apart instantly, as if by some shared reflex.

A figure stepped into view. "What exactly is going on here?"

It was Richard.


	5. Chapter 5

_Hi everyone! I haven't been able to update for a while as I've been travelling, but I hope you enjoy the next few chapters :) As always, reviews are much appreciated!_

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><p>Mary wrung her hands together. She couldn't think of what to say; Richard had seen everything and she wasn't going to deny it, yet how could she confront him? How could she back out of the proposal now? Matthew had made the decision sound so simple, but now that she was here, facing her fiancé, all her courage seemed to melt away. She could sense Matthew just behind her, and his presence comforted her slightly. He too was remaining silent, respecting that it was a matter between her and Richard. Yet he did not leave, or turn away. She was grateful for that.<p>

Richard, sick of the silence, spoke first. "No, I know what's going on. You can't seem to get over your... affection for Matthew Crawley."

Mary brought her chin up and met his eyes calmly. "I don't deny it."

She noticed his jaw tense. "Mary, I know you to be a strong woman. Now prove it to me, and to yourself. Once we're married you'll forget him."

She took a deep breath. This was it. "I could never forget Matthew. And I'm afraid that's why I can't marry you."

"Well I strongly advise you do," he said, his voice lowered, revealing more irritation. "Because you seem to have forgotten that I have the power to ruin you."

She nodded, mentally trying to hide any sign of fear. "I know. And I can't marry a man who resorts to blackmail in order to get what he wants."

"If you walk away from me now, you will never marry."

Forcing herself not to glance at Matthew, Mary uttered: "I have hope."

"No one would so much as consider you!"

Here Matthew stepped forward. "If you are done threatening her, I suggest you leave." He caught Mary's eye. "She's made her decision."

Richard offered a wan smile. "And she'll regret it when she sees tomorrow's paper. She'll regret it for the rest of her life."

He went to leave, before swinging around dramatically. "And don't try coming back, Mary. Because my mind is made. I overestimated you... and I could never marry you now."

With that he was off, striding with authority back towards the church.

Mary felt as if the Earth had shifted beneath her feet. All ties with Carlisle had been severed, yet she felt no relief. Her stomach felt light, as if she were floating. She felt sick.

Matthew laced his hand through her own and she gripped it tightly. He waited as she took in deep breaths, allowing herself to calm down.

Something huge was approaching them. A tidal wave of consequences, building up to be hurled at them with full force. The reactions of her family, the response from society, Richard's threats... all these things we going to hit them soon. But for now, the waters were calm.

"Are you alright?" Matthew asked.

Mary lay her head on his shoulder. "For now," she replied.

They stood together for some time in the middle of the large green field, not speaking and not thinking of the future. For that time they allowed themselves to savour the present; to appreciate the soft breeze, the spotted sunlight and the warmth radiating from their bodies.

In the distance, the church bell tolled the hour.

Nothing could touch them. Not yet.


	6. Chapter 6

"Here you are, M'lady," Anna said, as she furtively handed Mary the morning paper. Sitting up in bed, Mary scanned the front pages quickly. It had become a daily ritual: waking up with dread, her throat dry as Anna came quietly to her room whilst the rest of the house slept, handing her the morning paper which her maid bought in the village early hours of the morning. As with the previous mornings, there was nothing on the front page, although Mary suspected that there was always more important news than that of Richard's personal vendetta. It was the society pages that heightened the feeling of dread. And on turning to today's batch of scandal, Mary felt as though she had been anticipating an air raid and the bomb had finally been dropped. There it was, an article half a page in length, accompanied by a picture of her at some event in London, as well as a small portrait of Pamuk.

"I'll leave you be," Anna said softly, turning to leave.

"Thank you," Mary managed, just as Anna reached the door. A simple word, yet the gratitude it held was evident. To wake before she needed to, to walk to the village and back each morning, to have such patience... Mary didn't want Anna to think it all went unnoticed. "Thank you, Anna."

Her maid gave a small smile and left.

Mary didn't read the entire article- she didn't think she could handle it- rather, she skimmed through it, only picking up certain sentences; _'launching the mysterious death of Turkish noble Kemal Pamuk to scandalous heights', 'wealthy newspaper magnate Sir Richard Carlisle ended the engagement immediately, "I no longer wish to be associated with Mary Crawley, let alone married to her," was Sir Richard's direct statement..._

Enough. Mary pushed the paper from her lap and rose from the bed, as though the printed words had stained the sheets. What had been written was truly awful, yet she expected no less. There was nothing that could be done; half of London would be reading those words by now.

Surprisingly, the article - as terrible as it was - didn't hurt as much as Matthew's absence. To profess his love for her, to persuade her not to marry Carlisle, to assure her of his support and then to disappear without warning or so much as a note... that hurt the most.

Her mother seemed to think he and Isobel had gone back to Manchester, but no one had received word to confirm it. Mary had started several letters to him, yet each time she felt foolish, and they sat unfinished on her writing desk.

Approaching her window, she opened the curtains fully and allowed the morning light to illuminate her room. She stared listlessly across Downton's pale green grounds and the gems of dew they possessed, whilst contemplating the vague emptiness and lack of promise her future held.

Where is Matthew?

With a sinking feeling, it occurred to her that if he had any intention of returning for her sake, he would change his mind upon reading the morning paper. He had said he would stand by her, no matter how bad the rumours were; yet she knew that with the story actually printed, his resolve could falter. Yet at this point, she had no idea where he was, let alone what his current motives were.

She didn't know how long she had been staring out the window, consumed in her thoughts, when her gaze lingered on a strange tree trunk. It was bare of all leaves, and in spring that was odd enough, yet she couldn't recall a tree being right before her window at all. However, on closer speculation the trunk took the form of a human being.

Could it be? She blinked, not quite believing what she was seeing, but there was no mistake- the ghostly figure was tall and certainly male. Did she wish for news of Matthew so badly that he had appeared before her, like a mirage? Was she going mad?

The man was approaching the house and she could discern the details- he wore a suit, held a hat in hand, and she could make out the familiar blonde hair. Then all of a sudden the man looked up, directly at her window as though he knew she was there. Instinctively she drew back, not quite knowing why her heart was racing. Afraid of her own visions? She had well and truly lost it!

Edging closer to the window again, she saw that the imaginary Matthew had stopped and was standing not far from the house, still staring at her. He raised a hand in a wave, and Mary raised her eyebrows, impressed. She wondered whether he would do anything else; whether there was a limit to the power of her imagination. The figure was clearly capable of hand actions, as he was now motioning for her to come outside. She almost laughed out loud. This was truly extraordinary; it was almost as if she was having a conversation with her subconscious. She knew she was the rational sort, and she was hardly going to chase an illusion out onto the lawn, but as she turned back to her bed the thought of sitting alone with the newspaper and her thoughts was simply depressing. She found herself moving towards the door, down the hall, through the servant's quarters and out of the servants exit. Again, she felt like laughing at herself. It was only her first day of being a shamed harlot and she was already acting like a loony spinster!

Deep down, however, she knew her mirage wasn't waiting for her. She actually desired a walk. A nice long walk, with nothing but fresh air and the surrounding gardens to keep her company. And hopefully, a clear mind. It was in these early hours she could indulge in this desire, before retreating to her bedroom and hide, like the coward she was, from her family.

Moving across the damp green in nothing but her nightgown and slippers, Mary stopped short as she was confronted with the sight of a real, breathing Matthew Crawley. He took in her appearance and a smile crept across his face. Humiliation sunk in - she could feel it blossoming in her cheeks - as he approached her.

"It's really you," she said stupidly once he was in hearing distance. She couldn't quite keep the shock out of her voice, or her expression for that matter.

Matthew simply smiled. "Yes, it's me," he said.

She could only stand there gaping like an idiot. As the reality of it fully dawned on her, her emotions were conflicted. She wanted to be mad at him, to shout at him and cause a scene. Then again, she didn't even want to give him that; she wanted to be cool and unfeeling, to show some annoyance yet withhold the true extent of his power over her. Another part her didn't want to express any anger- rather, to pretend they were a week in the past. No trouble, no misunderstandings. As the conflict within her built, Mary stood very still and remained silent.

"I know I'm quite early, but I couldn't wait," Matthew begun. "I didn't expect you to be awake, but when I saw you at the window I thought you might come down." Here he chuckled quietly. "I'm glad you did."

Mary didn't respond and his smile faltered. "Are you alright?"

"I don't understand." The statement was delivered bluntly, devoid of accusation or grievance.

He frowned. "Didn't you get my note?"

"Note?" Confusion swept over her but something else did as well- relief. He had left a note - a message. He didn't leave without telling her, he still cared. Her confidence was restored. Somehow, the morning sun seemed slightly brighter than before.

"I left it with your grandmother last week."

She closed her eyes as something close to a smile played on her lips. "Granny. I never got it."

Already Mary had deciphered her grandmother's reasoning. The dowager Countess had found last week's failed wedding delightful, and Matthew's involvement even better. Violet had always been in strong favour of Mary and Matthew together, well in recent years at least, and Mary suspected her grandmother had felt the need to add a controlled element of drama to the situation, in order for Mary and Matthew to, as Violet would say, 'tie the knot'.

Matthew shook his head. "I'm sorry. I really should have given you the message in person."

It didn't matter. In Mary's mind, the issue had been resolved and they were wasting time dwelling on it. "Where were you?"

"I wanted to take care of a few things before I settled down here.." he paused, "...permanently. Plus I wanted to get back to Manchester as soon as possible, to see an acquaintance of mine- a lawyer. I thought he might be able to help, that is, I thought he might be able to prevent Carlisle from publishing the story. There are laws against libel, and I thought we had a chance. It turns out we can't stop him. He has valid defenses and our chances in court would be slim. Plus, the whole process would go on for months."

With every passing moment Mary's happiness seemed to double. He hadn't gone for personal reasons. He had gone to help her.

She nodded. "The story was published today. What's done is done."

"Oh Mary..."

"I can't thank you enough for trying."

"Is it bad?"

"Horrible," she admitted, sighing. Yet even thinking of the article didn't destroy the happiness she felt.

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be." She smiled. "I'm honestly just glad you're here."

He returned her smile, and then as if remembering something, his expression changed to appear more mischievous. He appeared almost... coy. "Besides, that wasn't the only reason I had to leave," he said, reaching into his coat pocket. "I had to go into town to pick something up."

Mary's mind was blank. What was he going on about? And why was he looking at her like that? She guessed he'd brought a gift for her- hardly necessary - though she supposed there was no point politely refusing. If he wanted to lavish her with gifts it was entirely up to him. But what could she possibly want from Manchester?

Her confusion grew as he sunk to one knee, and a split second after she considered the dew staining his pants, it clicked. She felt her hands come up to her mouth, covering her expression of surprise.

"Mary Crawley..." Matthew begun.

"Matthew-" But Mary bit back her protest, not wanting to ruin his moment.

"... Would you do me the honour of being my wife?"

And then she was smiling like a fool and she couldn't stop. Tears of sudden emotion were threatening to escape and for a moment all she could do was nod.

"Yes," she finally said, giving in to her emotions as she gazed down at the beautiful diamond ring, and at the wonderful man kneeling before her, who by miraculous circumstances wished to marry her. She had never felt anything like this- Matthew's first proposal had caught her off guard and left her unsure; Richard's proposal (if one could even call it that) had left her hollow.

Matthew rose as he slid the diamond onto her finger, which winked at her in the sunlight. Neither spoke, they simply looked at each other, before communicating their elation not through words but through a long, tender kiss. As Matthew pulled her closer Mary wondered at how she knew this was love, without being skeptical or thinking herself a fool.

Once it was over they couldn't stop smiling. Mary laughed.

"What?"

"I didn't think I would ever be proposed to in my nightgown!"

"Well," he said, linking his arm with hers, "Your attire makes it much more memorable."

Slowly, they walked back towards the house. The windows revealed small hints of activity, maids hurrying past and no doubt preparing breakfast. It wouldn't be long before the Crawley family rose from their beds and came downstairs. They would be confronted with two pieces of news that morning; the first now diminished by the second.

The pair were just rounding the house to enter from the front door when Mary glanced up to see a figure in of the top windows. It was her Grandmother, sitting comfortably with a smug smile on her face. The only spectator to the dramatic proposal on the lawn, but a satisfied one all the same. Mary could read her thoughts: everything had turned out as it should.


End file.
